


This Is the Goal, To Get Into Your Soul

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6580264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy accidentally starts giving Clarke massages. Because she's stressed. Not because she makes the best noises of all time. That is totally unrelated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is the Goal, To Get Into Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt from [ariadneskywalker](http://ariadneskywalker.tumblr.com): someone (bellamy) uses one of those nifty head massagers on clarke and ofc she makes /sounds/ because of the sensations and bellamy hears and now he needs to hear those sounds in other more delightfully smutty settings

“What the fuck is this?” Bellamy asks, poking the thing on Clarke’s bookshelf. It looks like a whisk that someone cut down the middle. But rainbow colored. Maybe it’s a bisexual pride thing, but--he’s not sure what it _does_. Aside from being rainbow-colored and kind of springy.

“Oh, that?” She makes a face. “Some sort of weird head massager thing? My assistant got it for me, she thinks I’m stressed.”

“You know you can just throw things away, right? You don’t have to keep this.” He picks it up and pushes it against his arm. It bounces off. “So, what, you just–jam it on your head?”

“That’s what I do with everything, yeah,” she says, handing him a beer.

“Obviously, when in doubt.” He pushes the thing onto his own head and rubs it up and down. “Huh. It’s not that bad.”

She snorts. “You look ridiculous.”

“Well, I’m getting my head massaged and you aren’t, so who’s coming out on top here?” He pulls the thing off himself and puts it on her instead, mostly as a joke, but then she makes this _noise_.

Bellamy knows a lot of things. He knows Clarke is basically constantly stressed, he knows she’s been single for a while, and he knows she’s his best friend and he’s hopelessly in love with her.

He didn’t know she made that noise. Like, ever. 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” she grumbles, and he swallows hard, rubs the massager on her head again. The soft noise she makes is so fucking good, and he has to clear his throat to make sure his voice will be normal.

“Come on, at least sit on the couch,” he says. “I want to watch Netflix while you learn about de-stressing.”

Which is how he ends up spending the rest of the night with Clarke curled into his side, making incredibly distracting sex noises as he uses the weird head massager on her.

And it basically ruins his life.

*

“Look, I’m just saying, think about how shitty your life is now.”

Miller snorts. “Man, you always know just how to start conversations.”

“Are you thinking about it?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Now imagine it’s just the same, but you know what sex noises he makes. Or, like--probably her sex noises are _even better_. So, fuck my life.”

“So what I’m hearing is you’re going to start massaging her head every time you see her, and after you go home and jerk off.”

“Probably not _every_ time.”

“That makes you feel better?”

He rubs his face. “Nope. Everything sucks. I just wanted to complain.”

“That’s for thinking of me. Really. I definitely care.”

“It’s not like I can complain to Clarke, so--”

“Now when you try to casually touch her head I’ll know you’re thinking about sex, so, yeah, fuck you. You’re buying me first round next time we’re out with her so I can forget.”

“I’m basically always thinking about sex when she’s around.”

“You wish,” Miller says. “You’re thinking about how you want to marry her and get a dog and shit. You have fantasies about just getting to hold her hand in public.”

“Shut up.”

“You started it. I try to get you to not talk to me about this, but you keep doing it, so this is what you get. I know way too much about what you want.”

He flops onto his back, rubs his face. “Yeah, you really do. Sorry.”

*

He doesn’t find excuses to touch her head. Really, he doesn’t.

What he does is start buying her massagers.

“You and my assistant, jesus,” she says, fond, poking the weird back massager thing he found at Whole Foods by accident. “I’m not that tense.”

“I’d believe that if I hadn’t seen your reaction to the head massage.”

“It was nice! But it’s not like I’m suffering.” She reaches over her shoulder, pushing the four prongs against her back, but she can’t get the angle right. “Yeah, I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Lie down on the couch,” he says.

She looks at him, and he manages to keep his face blank. At least until she turns and pulls off her shirt. Her bra is gray with blue polka dots, which he didn’t need to know.

“I assume it works better applied directly,” she says, voice unreadable as she settles on the couch.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He swallows hard, straddles her back. He really didn’t think it would _work_. “Cute,” he adds, sliding his finger under her bra strap and instantly regretting it.

“Thanks,” is all she says, though, and she offers him the massager.

“I don’t actually know how this thing works,” he admits, but he figures it’s probably just--apply directly to skin and see what happens.

“Mmmm,” she says, long and drawn out, and shifts under him. He has never had a worse plan. He did not think this through. “Kind of just--roll it over my back?”

“You don’t get to make fun of me for getting you this. You’re so tense.” He pauses, puts the massager down and just takes her shoulders with his hands. She _is_  tense, and when he starts rubbing the knots from her shoulders, her sigh is all contentment. “See?” he murmurs.

“I didn’t know you were volunteering,” she says. 

“Me neither, but someone has to.” He digs his thumbs in, trying to draw the tension out of her. “I’ll go back to the massager in a minute, just--I can figure out where you need it this way.”

“Your hands are great.”

He’s glad she can’t see his face; she says it so easily, it would be weird if he made a big deal about it.

“Thanks. Is work bad?”

He hits a bad knot, and her soft moan is the hottest thing he’s ever heard. “Just long hours. Tiring. I feel like I never have any time to mys-- _oh fuck_. God, right there.”

“You know you can cancel if you need to be alone, right?”

“I know. But I don’t get enough time with you either.”

“You definitely don’t.”

“And you brought me a massager. And your hands.”

“Yeah, but I always bring my hands.”

“Why do you think I keep inviting you over?”

It becomes a tradition because every time he brings her a new massager, he gets to use it on her, and it’s the best torture of all time, getting to put his hands all over her, trying to draw as many noises out of her as he can. The only reason he doesn’t actually feel like a terrible person is that she so obviously needs it, and he’s helping. And he does _like_  helping.

It’s just also incredibly hot.

After a couple months, she texts him, _Do you have a new massager for me tonight?_

He frowns at his phone. _No. Am I coming over tonight?_

_Please. But don’t bring anything. I’m set._

He texts Miller, _I think that whole massage thing might have finally caught up with me. If Clarke murders me, tell O I deserved it, but don’t tell her why._

_Unsubscribe_ , Miller responds. It is literally the only thing he has texted Bellamy since this whole thing started. Bellamy cannot pretend he doesn’t deserve it.

Clarke doesn’t look angry when she opens the door; she looks flushed and a little out of breath, but her smile is bright. “Hey!”

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Something has to be up?”

“I figured you’d be working.”

She bites her lip. “Well, um, I was having fun with this whole, uh--I bought myself a massager? And I didn’t know it was going to come today, so when it did, I figured I’d take the night off.”

“Oh.”

She jerks her head, and when he comes in, closes the door behind him, sagging against it. He’s about to ask, because he missed something, and the she grabs a box off the bookshelf and tosses it at him.

He catches it on reflex, looks down and turns _bright fucking red_ , he’s sure, because--it’s a vibrator. One of those rabbit ones, translucent pink and big and--

“Personal massager,” Clarke says, and he jerks his eyes back up to her. She’s flushed as well, almost defiant. “Want to help me out with it?”

“Clarke--”

“It’s okay if you don’t. It doesn’t have to be--doesn’t have to be a thing.”

He glances back down at the box and then places it on her coffee table, gentle, before he lets himself cross back to her, lean down, and press his mouth to hers.

She winds her arms around his neck, holds him close when he tries to pull back, and he laughs into the kiss.

“I was going to ask if that was okay.”

“After you did it?”

“I wanted to do it once.”

He fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck. “I want you to do it more than once.”

“Even better,” he says, and moves back in for another, longer taste. She opens for him, slides her tongue against his, and when his fingers slide under the hem of her shirt, she groans and pushes him away. 

“Bedroom,” she says, looking him up and down like she’s starving. “Now.”

“Yeah,” he manages, only barely remembers to grab the box.

“It’s not in there,” she says, and he frowns. “I took it out and put in the batteries and got it all ready to go. The box was just, you know. For dramatic effect.”

He has to grin, catches her around the waist as she goes through the door. “You planned this.”

“Obviously.”

He kisses her neck. “Thanks for putting in the effort, but you really didn’t have to.”

She tugs him to the bed by his shirt, surges up for another full kiss on his mouth. “You were putting in effort too. You bought me like ten massagers.”

“Do you know what you sound like when you get massages?”

“What?”

He scrapes his teeth against her neck. “So fucking hot.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah. Now that we’re in here, can I take your shirt off?”

“You can take off all the clothing you want,” she says, and he tugs her shirt off and gets her bra while he’s at it. And then his plan fails and dies, because he has _dreams_  about her goddamn breasts, and there they are, just as perfect as he knew they’d be.

“Fuck,” he says, and kisses her again, hot and wet, as he palms her breast in one hand.

“Please.”

He crowds her onto the bed, lets his mouth trail down from hers to her neck and chest. “Before we go any farther, I’m totally in love with you,” he says. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and her fingers curl around his neck again. “No. Really not a problem. I love you too.”

He kisses her breast. “Where’s your personal massager?” he asks.

“I think at this point, you’re my personal massager.” But she grabs the vibrator off her bedside table and hands it over.

“Never used one of these either.” He pulls off to flop down next to her on the bed. It feels like the kind of situation where he should be _terrified_ , or at least overwhelmed; he’s in bed with Clarke, and she’s half naked and snuggled into his side. And, yeah, his stomach is flipping and his heart is racing, but he’s mostly just happy. This is  _Clarke_ , and she said she loved him. He’s going to make her feel so good.

“You’re a natural,” she says, kissing his shoulder. “Or, you know. I’m really easy and basically any time you’re touching me, I get wet.”

He flicks one of the switches on the vibrator and it starts buzzing and twisting. “Jesus Christ.”

She laughs. “It feels good, trust me.” 

He turns off that switch and tries the other one, which makes the clit extension buzz. “Yeah, no, I meant--” He tugs her chin up for a kiss. “How wet are you right now?”

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw the package got delivered.”

“I really love you,” he says, kisses her one more time, and tugs her pajama bottoms down and off, getting her underwear with them. And then there she is, Clarke Griffin, naked and beautiful and waiting for him, wanting him.

_His_.

“Okay,” he says, and kicks off his jeans mostly because he’s so fucking hard and they’re getting way too tight. He slides his hand up her leg, watching her shiver, raising goosebumps on her skin as he goes higher. He can smell her arousal, thick and heady, and he presses his mouth against her inner thigh. “Best way to de-stress,” he murmurs, teasing the vibrator against her opening. She really _is_  wet, and the vibrator slides against her, getting slick as he rubs her. 

She whimpers and spreads for him. “Bell--”

“Yeah,” he says. He tugs on her knee, getting her to reposition a little, changing the angle, and then he just pushes in. She takes the toy easily, _eagerly_  even, and he has to grind his hips against the bed as he watches it disappear inside her. It’s going to be him next time, and he can’t wait. “Okay?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes.” 

He turns on the vibration on the shaft, and her breath catches on a moan while her fingers clench on the sheets. He presses his lips against her raised knee. “Make a lot of noise,” he tells her. “Don’t hold back on my account.” And then he switches on the clit stimulator, low, and Clarke does as she’s told, gasping and rocking her hips back into him as he starts to thrust with the toy.

The noises aren’t quite the same as during the other massages; they’re so much better. She’s moaning and writhing, but every now and then there’s a _fuck_ or a _Bellamy, yes, please_ , and she’s _bossier_. She didn’t really know much about what she wanted from regular massages, but she knows exactly what she likes with sex, and she tells him to go harder, or angle the vibrator differently, or turn up the speed, her voice breathless and needy on every command. Her hand finds her breast, fingers tugging her own nipple harshly, and he loses the rhythm for a second because he’s so distracted by her touching herself, her lip caught between her teeth, helpless little moans spilling out of her.

“Bell,” she says, wrecked, and he switches his grip on the vibrator so he can surge up and kiss her without letting up. She laughs into his mouth. “I thought you wanted me to make noise.”

“Pretty sure you still will,” he murmurs, and she does, breathless little gasps that he swallows, until she breaks the kiss because she’s too close. He kisses her neck as she comes. She never gets _loud_ , no screams of pleasure, but she’s still the best thing he’s ever heard.

Besides, it’s their first time having sex. If she screamed now, he wouldn’t have anything to aspire to next time.

“Fuck, turn it off,” she says, breathless, hips still bucking under him. “Too sensitive.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, presses his lips against her neck and gets the toy switched off. He slides it out of her slowly, grinds his hips down again at the sound of it coming out of her.

“Don’t apologize,” she says, tugging him up for a wet kiss. “Are you clean?”

It takes him a minute to figure out the question. “Yeah.”

Her hands find the band of his boxers, tugging them down, and he kicks them off for her. And then her fingers close on him, soft and sure. It feels so good he almost doesn’t notice she’s guiding him into her.

“I thought you were too sensitive,” he manages.

“Just my clit. I want you in me.”

He laughs, presses a wet kiss against her shoulder. “You don’t have to ask twice. Fuck, Clarke.”

She opens so easily for him, already wet and open from the toy, and he has to remind himself to just fuck her, to not play with her clit like he usually would. But she’s still gasping, still quivering with a few lingering aftershocks, and when he finds the right angle. “Right there, yeah,” she says, breathless. “I don’t know if I’ll come again, I don’t care, just--” She fumbles for him, kissing him again, and she does get off on just his dick, one more time, right before he does.

She pushes him off her gently, once she’s caught her breath. He collapses onto her bed, laughing softly, and she wraps around him.

“I didn’t even get your shirt off.”

“Priorities.”

Her hand slides under his shirt and her nails scrape over his abs. “You being shirtless is a pretty big priority for me.”

“Fine,” he huffs, all fake outrage, and leans up so he can pull his shirt off. “Better?”

She props herself up on him, surveying him. He’d feel self-conscious, except, honestly, he knows exactly how good he looks when he’s naked. “So much better,” she agrees, leans in for another long kiss. “Thanks for the massage.”

He laughs. “Mm, yeah. Any time.”


End file.
